For most of our time in New England, our ancestors worked the land. Their calloused hands were much stronger than mine, and their struggles much greater. Farming is backbreaking work here in rocky New England and the rewards are poor. And yet, as better farmland and greater opportunities drew many family members west, our direct ancestors never left this place. They did whatever else they could to get by: making shoes and wagon wheels, blacksmithing, carpentry, running cider and sawmills, renting spare rooms to tourists—and hitching this roller to a team of horses and rolling the snow to make town roads passable, as my great-great-grandfather did in his time.